Page 47 of Unrelenting
Gianni bows, then goes to the cabinet at the side of the room to fetch a porcelain plate and some silverware. As he sets it down in front of me, I look up at his wizened face. “You know, I could have got that myself.”
“It’s my job,” Gianni says in his nasally voice before fading into the background once more.
Grabbing the silver tongs, I serve myself a heap of spaghetti. My stomach growls as the aroma of fresh garlic and tomato hits me. Damiano’s cook, Tomasso, is incredible. He’s not as good as Lucia, of course, but still up there among the best in the city.
“How long have I been out?” I ask as I take my first bite of the mouth-watering pasta.
“Forty-eight hours, give or take.”
“Shit.” I didn’t expect it to be so long. A lot can happen in forty-eight hours. I glance over my shoulder. “Where’s Olivia?”
“Sulking in her room.”
That’s nothing new. “Why? What’s bugging her ass now?”
Damiano pours me a glass of water, then takes a sip of his wine. I guess it’s not sensible for me to have alcohol right now, but it pisses me off that he didn’t give me the choice.
“We’re taking her home the day after tomorrow.”
“We are?” Though I’m not opposed to taking a trip to New York, I would prefer to be consulted rather than informed about our plans. I have a life of my own, after all.
Damiano nods. “She’s getting married at the end of the week.”
My eyes widen. “You’re shitting me. Piotr proposed?”
Damiano chuckles. “I’m not sure proposed is the right word. He took her out to your girlfriend’s restaurant and by the end of the night, she had his ring on her finger.”
That reminds me, I really need to call Lucia and let her know why I’ve not been around the last couple of days. I left her place in a hurry the other morning. She’s probably wondering what’s going on, if I’m ghosting her.
“Where’s my phone?”
“In my office. I didn’t want it disturbing you while you recovered.” Damiano grins. “Your girlfriend’s been blowing it up today. I think she’s mad at you.”
Dropping my cutlery, I get to my feet.
“Where are you going?” Damiano asks.
“To grab my phone. I need to speak to Lucia.”
Damiano shakes his head.
“No, you need to sit your ass down and eat. You’ve been out of it for two days. Another few minutes won’t make any difference.”
He’s right. I sit down and grab my fork. I twirl it in my spaghetti and take a big bite. Then, I take a chunk of bread fromthe basket. It’s soft and still warm from the oven. I mop up a little sauce with it and pop it in my mouth. Delicious.
“Who patched me up?” I ask.
“Gianni.”
I suppress a shudder at the thought of the butler’s long, bony fingers touching me.
“He did a good job,” Damiano says. “Shouldn’t leave much of a scar.”
“Shame. I hear the ladies love a scar.”
“Tell that to our brother.”
I curse myself inwardly for my flippant comment.
